


Pretty Tiger

by Annehiggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is preying on young men, something that Dean has encountered before. </p><p>Warning: There is a strong aspect of emotional rape to this and it references a past incident of that confused Dean enough he doesn't avoid experiencing what happened again. Given the supernatural aspects of it, I felt the Noncon/rape warning was not entirely accurate so I opted for "chose not to warn" and an explaination here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to Live Journal July 22, 2010. Because I don't want all the Apocalypse baggage or to have it looming in the future, this story is an AU set in a present day 'verse where John had the Colt in his hand during the few seconds he got control back and season 1 ended differently. All things flow from there. Most importantly, Sam didn't die and Dean didn't sell his soul to save him at the end of season 2. Thus no trip to Hell, no angels or Apocalypse here.
> 
> Inspired by the photo below which Jensen posed for during a Smallville shoot.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/anne_higgins/pic/0001a75q/)

**Pretty Tiger**  
By Anne Higgins

Bile burned the back of his throat. He managed to toss the medical examiner a shaky smile and keep his breakfast from making a reappearance thus upholding the dignity of both Dean Winchester and his fake FBI badge.

The morgue guru smirked, no doubt considering Agent Johnson a real light-weight if a non-spectacular corpse like the one they'd asked to see could provoke such a reaction. Douchebag couldn't know it was precisely the non-spectacular part twisting Dean's stomach.

'Agent Young' – Dean was on an AC/DC kick this week – gave his older brother a WTF look, but went on with the questioning. "So you've been unable to determine a cause of death?"

The amusement faded from the portly doctor. "No, but a toxin must be involved." He glanced at the latest victim's face and the serene smile rigor had fixed upon it. "We've run the most sophisticated scans possible and still come up empty-handed."

Sam nodded slightly. A few years back, Sammy had developed a search engine that scanned online newspapers for a few key phrases. 'No apparent cause of death' ranked in the top five. Add that to the late-twenty-something ages and perfect health of the four dead and Cooperstown, Nevada, had warranted a visit from the Winchester brothers. And, yeah, Dean had to admit Geek Boy had scored again. Been real nice though if the death smiles hadn't been the detail the cops had decided to keep secret. Fair warning and all that. Or maybe the opportunity to run screaming in the opposite direction. Because fucking hell, Dean would have rather faced down a room full of wendigos than this.

Uncertain if he wanted to laugh or cry, Dean settled on silence and let Sam gather all the details. Four nights, four deaths. Two women, two men. Two straight, one gay, one undecided. One Asian, two Caucasians, one African-American. "So nothing in common beyond their age group and mysterious death." Sam frowned and Dean could sympathize. Nothing in common made things a real bitch to track down. Of course, the Winchesters specialized in the bitchy side of life. 

Dr. Douchebag snapped him out of his thoughts and nearly gave him a heart attack when he said, "Well, they did seem to have one other thing in common."

Fuck! Don't say it!

"And that is?"

God damnit, don't say it! Dean clenched his fists in an effort not to attack.

"Well, from what I've heard, they all shared a common personality trait."

Personality? Okay, so maybe he wasn't going to say it.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"They were all what I think of as a sex kitten."

Sex. Kitten. Dean glared and spoke for the first time since he saw the dead smile. "What the fuck do you mean by that?"

The doc jumped, looked flustered like Dean had returned the near-heart attack favor. "Not the way everyone uses it, but sexy in a sweet, mischievous sort of way."

Right. Little ball of fluff all cute and purring, but the claws could come out. The first time around another Dr. Douchbag had described it as 'fuck toys looking for a sugar daddy.' Proved everyone was as fucking clueless now as then.

Yeah, Dean knew what was doing the killing – almost always a what instead of a who in their line of work – and how to gank its miserable ass. Trick would be keeping Sam from finding out. Because like the time before, everyone had missed the obvious. Everyone but Dad. _They were all pretty, Dean. Just like you._

*

"A ghost? Seriously?" Sam stared at his brother wondering if this was some sort of joke.

Dean turned the keys in the ignition and the familiar roar of the Impala fired up. "Yeah, Dad and I ran into one like it in Little Rock during that last year before I hauled your ass out of Stanford." 

Maybe it wasn't a joke. Maybe it was some sort of test. Seemed the longer they hunted the less Dean trusted his judgment. "Doesn't sound like a spirit's work."

"It's sort of a specialist. You know, like a Woman in White. Only super repressed and pissed off about it enough to kill anyone getting what it didn't." He jerked off his tie, then tossed it into the backseat with the enthusiasm of someone who really, really hated ties. "Last one died 110 years ago. Victim of what they'd label a hate crime today."

He supposed it made some sort of twisted sense. Personally he would have gone after the other side of the equation, but sometimes spirits were too far gone for any logic to come into play. "Well, if it's like a Woman in White, we need to find its weakness."

"Nah, simple salt and burn the bones will do it. But it can be a bitch figuring out whose bones to burn. Tendency in the old days to cover up the reasons behind that kind of crime. Took Dad and me a couple of weeks to put it all together."

"And in the meantime it kills every night?"

"Yeah," Dean went quiet for a moment and his face lost some color. "It was bad, Sammy. Real bad."

Sam's doubts vanished. He could tell when Dean was genuinely upset and this qualified. "We'll find it."

"Damned straight we will," Dean answered. "I'll drop you at the library so you can put your Geek Boy powers to work." Didn't say a word about what he intended to do.

Sam clinched his jaw. Orders like he was ten and couldn't manage any input of value. Always was worse at moments like this, when Dean knew time pressure wouldn't allow Sam to protest. And Dean always made the right call, too. Like some sort of dare – _'You know I'm right, bitch, so what are you going to do about? Whine because I didn't say pretty please?'_

Sighing he held his peace. They'd fought this fight too many times to go into it again. For now. But he wasn't certain how much more of being treated like a snot-nosed kid he could take. Wasn't even as if Dean was trying to get him back up to speed like during the year they'd searched for their father. More like he'd given up on him. Like his faith in Sam had died with Dad. Sam had spent the last four years trying to get it back, but he was beginning to think he never would.

Dean pulled the Impala up in front of the town library. "Research beckons, Sammy. Best get to it."

He grit his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter and got out of the car before he could say something they'd both regret.

*

Dean made the rounds of the victims' friends and loved ones. He figured it couldn't hurt to verify everything _was_ the same, and idiots with fuck toys and sex kittens on their minds wouldn't, couldn't ask the right questions. Two really embarrassing hours later he got the expected answer -- yeah, same thing. Exactly. Fuck, because he had zero problems admitting he'd hoped otherwise. Would have let him come clean with Sammy. Mostly. Driving him away was one thing, but lying had felt flat out wrong. At least he hadn't pulled the lie out of thin air. Instead he'd led Sam down the same false trail he and Dad had followed back in Arkansas.

A stop at the drug store near their hotel netted him the few supplies he'd need and he made it back to the room an hour or so before sundown. Needed to get in place by full dark and he still had to get ready for his 'date.' He showered and shaved. Really shaved. Not a go with the sideburn trimmer to leave some rugged stubble, but a close, baby-smooth shave that instantly took a couple of years off his appearance. Afterwards he spared a few seconds to glare at his image in the mirror. Spent most of his life trying to deny the prettiness, doing what he could to mask it. But not tonight. Tonight he had to let it all hang out. Again. Fuck.

The first time Dad had helped him do the next part – and how fucking weird was that? – but his hand was steady enough to do it on his own despite the lack of practice. Mascara, eyelash curler, light brush of smoky green eye shadow to make his eyes extra bright and girly, then a brush of tinted-gloss over his lips to make them look moist and kissable – all the war paint needed, if 'tastefully' understated, to transform him into a full-on pretty boy. God, sometimes he hated his life.

He chose his snuggest jeans. Nothing spray-painted on about them, but they hugged him in the right places while still letting him move. To finish he settled on one of the white dress shirts he wore for the FBI gigs, then turned up the sleeves. Not the usual poorly-paid professional used for a good chunk of their covers or the multi-layered laid back look he favored. Made him feel stripped down, vulnerable. Mostly the point, but he hated it almost as much as the makeup.

After several moments of internal debate, he decided against leaving Sam a note. Yeah, things went south tonight, his brother would need to know what was going on to save the next victim. But if it got Dean, Sam's next step would be to call Bobby and that would net him the whole miserable story. Anyway, no way in hell was he dying tonight. No matter how much he might come to wish he would.

He left the room and headed for his car. His questioning had narrowed down the thing's hunting ground to a few square blocks. Mostly bars and restaurants. Surprise, surprise, just like last time. No one place in common, but not a huge area. All he needed. His 'prettiness' would do the rest.

*

Sam glared at the screen, his eyes tired and dry from staring at it for hours. Worse he hadn't come up with a single lead worth anything. And his doubts began to rise again. He knew Dad and Dean were good, but Little Rock was four times as big as Cooperstown. Would have taken months, maybe even years, to find something. So how had they pulled it off in a matter of weeks?

Briefly he considered contacting Ellen and asking her to put Ash on the job. Extra set of eyes couldn't hurt, and Ash could track down any information that had managed to make it into an electronic database better than Sam could. But … he could smell a Dean-sized rat, and he wanted some answers he'd bet couldn't be found outside of his brother's head.

Sam sighed. God, he wished Dad were here. Hurt like a dagger in the gut to admit it, but Sam and Dean had grown so far apart Sam had turned from the person who knew Dean best to the one who knew him the least. But Dad, Dad would have known what to do. Sam frowned at the thought. Yeah, Dad would know because he'd been there, had been there with Dean most of the years Sam had thought ditching his family was a good idea. Give one hell of a lot to go back in time and punch his self-righteous younger self in the nose.

Not seeing how another round of self-recrimination could help things, Sam tried to think. Dean wasn't talking, Dad was dead, neither Dean nor Sam had even known Ellen existed until after they'd lost Dad so she wouldn't have answers. Neither would Bobby since he'd stopped speaking to Dad during that time.

Sam blinked and sat up straight. Between the day Sam had left for Stanford and the day the Winchester brothers had gone to him for help to find their father Bobby Singer had run John Winchester off his property with a shotgun. What if it hadn't happened before Little Rock? What if it had happened _because_ of Little Rock?

*

The after-work clientele slowly drifted into the Flying Dutchman as Dean sat watching from where he'd parked across the street. No bar in the area would be jumping for hours, but his prey liked to hunt early, liked to toy with its victims for hours before sending them spiraling into unsurvivable levels of ecstasy. Another detail he'd not mentioned to Sam, who would think they had until somewhere around the midnight time of deaths the coroner's report had listed. One way or another, this would all be over before his brother even thought to drag himself out of research mode. And Sam would be so pissed off by all the lies and lies by omission, he'd finally ditch Dean like he always threatened to do. So the agony of waiting for the proverbial shoe to squash him like a bug would finally end, too.

Dean sighed watching another group enter the bar. Two sets of couples this time given the casual PDAs. All four male. Looked like the hotel clerk hadn't steered him wrong – place was the closest thing to a gay bar in the area. Yeah. Gay. Bar. Because last time he'd faced off against this nightmare, Dean had learned a lot about himself. The least of it was that he was gay.

When Dad had dropped him off at Bobby's then fled with mutters of a rawhead in Topeka, Dean had pretty much lost it. Did a lot of clinging to Bobby. Still didn't know what all he'd sobbed out during those first few broken hours, but he knew he'd let the gay part slip. Fucker hadn't even acted surprised. He'd comforted him, reassured him he would always be there for Dean. All bullshit, because when Dad had finally come back, Bobby had turned around and made certain he never had to put up with Dean again by chambering a round in his shotgun and telling John Winchester to never darken his doorstep again.

Dean had gotten the message and hadn't bothered the man again until desperation to save Dad had forced him into it. But he'd had Sam with him, and he knew Bobby liked Sam, would want to help Sam.

Dean snorted. Story of his life. Everyone liked Sam. No one gave a flying fuck about him.

*

Sam winced at the loud string of curses coming from his cell. He waited until Bobby took a breath, then cut in, "I take it you know what might be going on."

"What I know is your damn brother is as big an idjit as your daddy!"

"Tell me about it," he muttered. Fortunately, Bobby got the literal request behind the figurative complaining and started talking.

*

Dean got out of his car and made his way across the street. The last time he'd gone to the local hotspot for all things young, beautiful and completely heterosexual, but he'd lacked self-awareness then. He'd learned. Bisexual with gay preferences or a closet-case finding pleasure in denial and the company of a series of lovely ladies. He hadn't been sure of his label until his brief affair with Cassie. She'd indulged him, let him experience things he'd never risk with a male one-night stand. Because bad enough he'd had to deal with the usual 'what would the family think?' crap, his life had taught him the high value of paranoia. Hadn't been the best mix for exploring his new-found sexual-orientation. She'd happily done it for him, teaching him he was not only gay, but that he had an annoying fondness for taking it up the ass.

Another item to add to the official 'Ways Dean Screws Up' list. Couldn't be a good son, brother or hunter. Couldn't be heterosexual. Couldn't even manage to be the toppy, butch sort of gay that might earn less than complete scorn from his macho father. An utter failure right down to how he preferred his orgasms. He took a few moments to dwell on it – all the secrets, unsatisfied needs and a huge helping of self-disgust – let it rise up from the hole he kept it buried in and brighten his eyes with tears. Would deny it to his dying day, but he'd always been a crier. About time it proved useful instead of an all around humiliating pain-in-his-ass.

Dean stopped just inside the door and gave the place the once over while doing his best to project 'frightened young thing looking for someone and not finding him' vibes. Attracted more than a small amount of attention, and the moment it seemed reasonable for a normal person to notice, he dropped his gaze. More chum for the sharks. More of them that wanted him, the more attractive he became to his own prey.

He moved over to the bar, shoulders slightly slumped, head bent. He'd made his 'I'm so pretty you have got to want to fuck me stupid' point with his entrance, leaving him free to draw on everything he knew about victims to play one to perfection.

One of the bartenders – handsome, African-American, name tag said Tyler – gave him a sympathetic look and asked, "What can I get you, honey?"

Whiskey called his name, but not a good idea. "Glass of Chardonnay, I guess," he said softly, one more thing he'd never live down if Sammy found out about it, but it went with the current image, and, despite a lot of butch declarations to the contrary, he didn't exactly hate the stuff. Hell, he even knew his way around a wine list which was more than his 'sophisticated' baby brother could manage.

"You sure you should be here alone?" the guy asked, pouring a glass.

He hunched in a little more in on himself. "I … my boyfriend told me to meet him here." He cast a worried glance toward the door, then 'forced' a slight smile before dropping his gaze to his wine glass. "Must be running late at the office."

"It happens," Tyler assured him, reaching out like he wanted to give Dean's arm a friendly pat.

Dean drew away before he could make contact. "He doesn't like it when other people touch me," he murmured.

Tyler held up his hands. "Sorry. I had a sweet thing like you I'd be possessive, too."

A big red-headed guy settled on the stool next to Dean. "And I'd be a lot more careful about letting you out of my sight," Red said. "Maybe you should find yourself someone who'd take better care of you."

Christ, now there was a line to make a guy swoon. It was gonna be a long-assed night.

*

"It's called a Halvor," Bobby said as Sam crammed himself into the back of a cab. "Likes victims with pretty faces and broken souls."

Pretty. God, Dean was so far beyond pretty the word couldn't even come close to doing him justice. Worse, between them, Sam and their dad had done more than enough to break Dean. "Dad used him as bait."

"Yep, idjits thought they were dealing with a ghost, not a disembodied creature. Went for Dean like a dog for a bone." A sigh gusted over the phone. "Messed Dean up bad enough your daddy freaked. Brought him to me. Hell, the boy was so out of it, he had to carry Dean into the house. Then John took off like a damned scalded cat."

*

It took less than fifteen minutes of sitting there fending off the hungry masses and casting wide-eyed, fearful looks toward the front door before a familiar sensation announced 'Yatzee.' A warmth tickled his big toes, then began to flow along his feet then up his legs. Lot like slowly easing into a warm tub. But he had to go for full immersion. Couldn't kill the thing until it was completely inside of him.

Deciding he'd rather deal with his impending melt down somewhere a little less center stage, he slipped over to an unoccupied booth – too lit up for the private 'chats' going on in the darker ones and not lit up enough to advertise the 'goods.' Wouldn't matter once the place filled up, but for now customers could pick and choose.

Warmth had made it to his thighs by the time he got settled, and he cast one faint smile toward a watching Tyler. A nonsense piece of reassurance to a guy in another time and place Dean would have pegged as too friendly not to be behind all of this. Live and learn.

Like once upon a time he'd fought the warmth. Now he let it take him, sweep through him and enfold him in a delicious cocoon of bliss he'd never hoped to feel again. Yeah, live and learn.

*

"The thing tortures its victims for hours," Bobby quashed the idea Sam had until midnight to choke the truth out of his brother at the same time the cab turned into the hotel parking lot.

No Impala. "Shit," he hissed.

"What is it?"

"Dean's not here."

"Then the idjit's gone after it on his own."

A bar then. That would be the best hunting ground from what Bobby had told him. "Where's the best place to hook up around here?" Sam asked the driver, but before the man could answer, Bobby dropped another bombshell.

"You need to ask about a gay bar, Sam."

*

The warmth took its time playing with Dean's groin and ass, filling him until it could tickle his prostate. A human touch would have had him hard and writhing, but this thing spun a web of post-orgasmic haze. He felt boneless, unwilling to do more than blink. So easy to sit in silence and feel.

While it teased and pleasured his body, it tormented his mind. Let him relive the agony of losing his mom so vividly he could smell the smoke again, yet kept him silent and still beyond the beginning of a gentle trickle of tears. The failures came next. Every single fucking time he'd let his dad down and proved how utterly worthless he was. And Sammy. He'd never known what it was he'd done to fail his brother, but it had been enough for Sam to run away, to leave Dean terrified his brother had been killed. And Dad. It was the only time outside of their sparring sessions his father had ever hit him. Hard, a vicious backhanded slap across Dean's face. Had almost dislocated his jaw, but, when they'd finally tracked Sam down, the bruising had either faded enough for Sam to not see it or he hadn't cared.

After that Dean had tried even harder to give Sam anything he wanted, do anything he wanted, but all it had earned Dean was the pain of watching him storm out the door for life at Stanford and two years of silence. He'd tried so hard to cling to what he'd had left, but Dad had eventually tired of him, too. Hurt so much it had clouded his judgment, sending him scurrying to Sam for help. Had led Azazel to him and his girlfriend. Dean had never forgiven himself for that, had hated himself for the tiny comfort it had offered in finally having done something to earn Sammy leaving him.

The fullness inside him pulsed every time he thought of his brother. Sam, who had left home a scrawny, awkward kid, only to transform into a walking wet dream by the time they'd met up again. Stood there in that Stanford apartment pretending to perv on Sam's girl all while his knees had felt weak at the wrongness inside him. Hadn't stopped him from luring Sam away from her. He'd tried over and over again to convince himself it had been the right thing to do, that leaving her alone had kept Sam from getting killed, too. Never quite managed it. Sam could have saved her, but Dean had been selfish, had wanted Sam with him, had wanted her gone. Only time he'd ever gotten what he'd wanted and it had nearly destroyed Sam.

Dean had earned every hate-filled word Sam had ever thrown at him, had earned every word Sam spoke about going back to his dreams of a normal life which could never include Dean. Somehow that hadn't been punishment enough and the quest Dean had started to find their father had led to John Winchester's death.

Another twist of pleasure spiked through the memory almost as if to whisper that his father would have killed him if he'd known the thoughts Dean had about his little brother. Another wish? Another convenient death? Too far, he almost found his voice to scream no. It backed off, the pleasure receding to throw him more completely into the memory. Yellow eyes. His father's voice, but not his words. Hard wall against his back. Pain ripping through him until he'd begged his father to love him enough to stop the thing inside him from killing Dean. It hadn't worked. Instead Dad had turned to Sam, smiled at him, then raised the Colt to his own head and pulled the trigger.

Dean had watched his father die to save Sam, then spent every day since waiting for Sam to leave. So tired of it all. Mom, Sam, Bobby, Dad. Every single freaking person Dean had ever loved found a way to get rid of him. Hurt so much. Made the rock salt Sam had shot him with back in that Asylum feel like a love tap. Been the first time Dean had really understood how much Sam hated him. Sam. His brother. His kid. His partner. The man he loved with all his heart and soul. Not enough. Dean was never enough. Not for Sam. Not for anyone.

*

Sam managed to get across to the driver exactly what sort of place he was looking for, then turned his attention back to his cell phone. Except he didn't know quite what to say.

"Sam? You okay, kid?" Bobby's voice prompted him.

"Yeah, I guess." Sam had learned to trust Bobby, so he'd acted on his information, but he still couldn't quite believe what the man had said. "Dean's gay?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he wouldn't have been too surprised if Bobby had started laughing. "Thing takes its victims apart, then gives them what they need. Not what they think they need, what they do need. Kicked Dean's ass out of the proverbial closet at the same time it went romping through his psyche. A miracle he came out of it sane."

Sam's throat felt dry and tight, but he managed to choke out, "How did he get away?"

"They got lucky enough for an exorcism John knew to work, but it only banished it from Dean's body. Didn't kill it."

"So this could be the same creature?"

"Probably is. Things are damned rare. Thank God for small favors."

"Will it recognize him?" Mindful of the driver, he didn't ask if it would kill him faster, but Bobby was beyond sharp enough to pick up on what he was worried about.

"No, it doesn't work on that sort of conscious level. Besides, five years of living changes a man. Especially a hunter."

Especially one so certain his brother was going to leave him that he'd been pushing Sam away to get it over with. Yeah, he might be a blind idiot, but Sam finally understood Dean's behavior. And every single time Sam had made the mistake of even vaguely talking about the future, he'd only reinforced Dean's fear. Even though the last thing Sam had wanted in a very long time was to face a future without Dean in it.

*

Wave after wave of grief swept through Dean as the creature moved slowly up his body until even his scalp tingled. Then the pain vanished leaving only the constant sexual stimulation. Dean managed not to mentally brace himself for what he knew came next. Didn't think the damned thing knew who he was, but no sense in betraying he'd come into this forewarned.

Bobby hadn't seemed to know about what happened to victims next, and Dean hadn't told him even when he was sobbing in the man's arms. He'd made it sound like he'd cried because of all the old wounds ripped open and unwelcomed self-discovery, and, yeah, that had been part of it. But mostly … mostly it had been the loss of the warmth that once again began to fill Dean.

He'd never thought he'd feel it again. Like his soul was full and healthy. Like he was loved, even cherished. Like he mattered. The tears began to spill more freely. Not in grief, but in joy. So good. So warm. So loved. Worth everything to feel this again. Even his life.

*

"We figured out how to kill the thing. Dean knows what to do," Bobby assured him. "It's what comes after that worries me."

"What comes after?"

"He's going to have a total breakdown. Be vulnerable as hell which makes anyone around him a danger. We got damn lucky your dad was right there last time."

Dean was in a bar. Full of all sorts of people. Some who would happily take advantage of a beautiful young man. "I'll get to him in time." He had to. Refused to think of any other possibility. And when this was all over, he was going to kill Dean. What the hell had he been thinking?

"And now might be a really great time for you to stop punishing him for being your brother."

"What?"

"I ain't blind, boy," Bobby growled. "And you ain't half as good at hiding how you feel as you think. You get damned careless at times when he's not looking and you forget other people are around."

Sam blushed so hot he wondered if he'd burst into flames. "Bobby, I-"

"Just find him. Take care of him. My door won't ever be barred against you."

He couldn't think what to say, then the cab rounded the corner and it was time to move.

*

Dean let himself float in his cocoon of love, then he felt the final tug. The moment where he either surrendered and died a very happy man or fought back and returned to the cold misery of his life. The temptation made him ache and pulled him a step back from the proverbial edge. Damn, he didn't want his lonely life. Never liked being alone and all he had in front of him was a whole lot of me-time. Could die now. End it all in the grips of a pleasure so great no one could survive it. Oh, yes. He wanted. How he wanted. But. …

His hand tightened around the small ampoule in his pocket. A mixture of consecrated olive oil and herbs spilled across his palm as it shattered, then cut into his skin. The sharp pain helped focus his mind and he whispered a few words of ancient Greek.

A wail sounded inside his head, but only a soft gasp escaped his lips. Then it all flooded out of him, riding the same invisible waves it had arrived in. Only faster. Much faster. And it felt different this time. Not like a wounded escape, but like death. It had worked. Easiest kill Dean had ever made. So Miller time and all that shit. All he needed to do now was get up, go back to the hotel room and have that final fight with Sam so they could both get on with their lives. Yeah, that was what Dean would do. The very second he stopped crying.

*

Sam burst through the doors and his eyes swept the room while his heart pounded with the fear he'd come to the wrong place despite the familiar car parked out front. Nothing to the right, but when his gaze moved over the bar, the bartender caught his eye and nodded toward the far wall.

A couple of men stood outside a booth, and it didn't take much imagination to guess who they had cornered. He stalked over and rage filled him at the soft sounds of crying. He'd never heard his brother cry before. Hadn't been more than a few tears even after Dad died, but Dean cried now. The soft, broken-hearted sobs of a child hurt too badly for wails and screams.

He'd almost reached the table when he heard Dean's quiet pleas. "Go 'way."

It did not discourage his admirers, "Aww, pretty, don't be like that."

"Yeah, we'll take care of you," the other promised. "Seeing how your boyfriend never showed and all."

"Sam," Dean whispered.

"Right here," he growled, making the two jackasses jump, then whirl around to face him. Sam stared down at them from his well-muscled height, his eyes full of the promise of lots and lots of pain.

"Sorry man. Thought you'd ditched him," one muttered, while they both slunk away.

Sam almost regretted the lack of a fight, especially since he figured both of them were bad at taking no for an answer and needed to have their faces rearranged, but he had more pressing concerns at the moment. He stooped so he was at eye level with his brother. "Dean," he said, his voice pitched low and soft.

"Sammy."

"Yeah, I'm here," he said, slowly reaching for him, afraid he might bolt or even start screaming.

For a moment he didn't react at all, but as Sam's arms closed around him, Dean turned his face into Sam's shoulder. As if he'd been waiting for something to muffle the sound, he began to sob.

Sam had never been so terrified in his life. He was the one who'd always done the crying in his big brother's arms, and he wanted to tell Dean to stop. To say Dean was scaring him, and yeah, could Sam be more pathetic? Dean needed him and yet, all Sam could think about was himself. It was an embarrassingly familiar feeling. "It's always been about someone else, hasn't it, Dean?" he whispered into his brother's hair. "No one ever let it be about you. Especially you."

Dean didn't answer. He seemed to have recognized his body at least was safely in Sam's care and had let his awareness shut down. Nothing but tears and the hands clinging to him.

"It's okay," Sam told him, then said something he knew he should have said a long time ago, "I'll take care of you." He slipped one arm under Dean's knees then lifted him up and out of the booth. He didn't put him down again until they reached the car.

A frantic whimpering accompanied the hands scrabbling to keep hold of him as Sam tried to shift Dean from his arms and into the passenger seat. Okay, so not going to handle separation well. He tightened his hold on Dean's torso, giving him a reassuring hug while easing his legs down. Once he had Dean relatively upright, Sam slid into the Impala, then across the bench into the driver's seat, all while keeping Dean pressed against him.

Already he could understand why Dad had freaked out. This was not Daddy's brave little soldier and John Winchester had had no other reference for his eldest son. And he also got why Bobby had threatened Dad with a shotgun. How could anyone who loved Dean abandon him like this?

One arm free enough to start the car and get it in gear – thank God the Impala was an automatic – Sam drove them back to the hotel. The angles awkward, it took a bit more maneuvering to keep hold of Dean and get them out of the car again, but he managed. They stood in the parking lot for a moment, Dean not doing anything but cry and hold on.

Okay, so still not up to walking. Sam picked him up, carried him to the room, did a quick shifting of weight to get the door unlocked and open, then took Dean over to his bed. He thought to pull the covers aside before he set Dean down. Careful to never let go with more than one hand, he got his brother stripped down to his boxers.

Dean got the idea enough to release the death grip on Sam's t-shirt so Sam could shed a few layers, too, then he turned off the light and got them arranged comfortably under the covers. Through well over half the night Dean lay in Sam's arms and cried. Even whimpered several times. But Sam forced himself to stay calm, to hold him, to gentle rub Dean's back and make comforting sounds.

Finally, a few short hours before morning, Dean managed to cry himself to sleep. Although exhausted, too, Sam stayed awake several more minutes, watching over his brother to make certain he slept -- the way he had always known Dean had watched and waited when illness or nightmares had plagued a young Sam. Hell, no doubt Dean still watched until the limits of his own body forced him to sleep.

Sam finally drifted off himself while wondering what it said about him that he'd never bothered to watch before.

*

Dean woke to find the room bright with sunlight. His eyes crusty with salt and dry from overkill on the tear ducts, he wanted to reach up and rub them, but his muscles really didn't want to move.

"Dean? You okay?" Sam's voice rumbled beneath his ear.

Shit. It sank in he was lying more on his brother than the mattress. Now he really wanted to move, but found he still couldn't do it. "Sam," he croaked, then winced. Throat dry, head stopped up. Add it to the eyes and it all equaled he'd cried like a little bitch for hours. Hadn't done that since … well, the last time. He swallowed hard, trying to force some moisture into his throat. "Sorry. Didn't mean … be a pain."

Sam stiffened, his arms dropping away, and hey, turned out Dean could move after all. At least far enough to roll off Sam. He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch as his brother climbed out of the bed. Too close to his fantasies while he felt too shattered to cope. He heard the sound of water running and he wanted to call 'bring me some, too, bitch,' but he couldn't summon up that level of bravado yet.

A cool wetness touched his face and he started, his eyes snapping open. "Shhh, it's okay," Sammy said, guiding a damp washcloth over Dean's skin. "Time I took care of you."

"Sam?"

"Close your eyes." He should have made some sort of crack, instead he obeyed. With a touch gentle enough to make Dean want to cry all over again, Sam wiped the gunk away from Dean's eyes.

Once he finished, the bed shifted, then Sam's arm moved under Dean's shoulders, lifting him up enough for Sam to settle in behind him. Again his eyes snapped open. "Here," Sam said, handing him a bottle of water, "you need to drink something."

Since he really couldn't argue with that, Dean obeyed again. He drank the entire bottle in a few long gulps. Partly because he felt half-crazed with thirst, but he also desperately needed a delaying tactic. He really couldn't figure out what was going on. He reached the bottom of the bottle before any answers occurred to him.

"Hot shower will clear out your head. I'll help you soon as you feel strong enough to handle it."

Help? As in climb in with him and wash his back? "I can-"

"No, you can't. And you know it," Sam said, his voice in that firm 'never gonna win this one, bro, so shut up' tone he had that drove Dean crazy. "Bobby said it would be days before you're back to full strength."

Oh. Guess it was too much to hope for that those two wouldn't compare notes. Sam shuddered, and Dean stiffened in alarm. "You okay, little brother?"

"Am I? … Fuck, you are incredible. You lie to me, go off to face something that could have killed you alone, and if I hadn't called Bobby I wouldn't have made it to the club before two goons hauled you off somewhere for a private party." The quiet calm of Sam's voice confused Dean. Why wasn't he yelling? He was supposed to be yelling, then storming out of Dean's life. "God, you thought risking rape was a better alternative than relying on me." Sam's arms tightened around him, and Dean felt lips press against the back of his head.

For some reason, it pried the truth out of him. "I was afraid."

"Of what?"

So many things, but most of all, "Of needing you more than I already do." His eyes burned and he knew he'd be crying again if he had any tears left. He'd needed his dad and the man had died for Sam without giving Dean a second glance; he'd let himself need Bobby, then couldn't go back until he had Sam to hide behind. He simply couldn't handle yet another person he loved pretending to care only to turn his back on Dean. To spare himself that pain he'd fought every chick-flick moment Sam had wanted to emo all over him, because the punchline was always 'so long, Dean.'

And he must have said some of that aloud, because Sam's arms tightened so much breathing became an issue. "Know I've been a miserable, selfish ass, but, you have to believe me. I'm not leaving you, Dean," Sam said. "I've tried twice, and it didn't work out well."

Dean flinched. Once Dad had hauled Sammy back home, and the second time Sam had lost everything he cared about. "I know. I'm sorry." To his surprise, his eyes finally managed to tear up again. Because, hey, this was gonna kill him, but, no matter how badly he'd failed, he'd always tried to do right by Sam. "Doesn't mean you should give up on your dreams."

"Dean, you are my dream."

What? "Sam?"

Another hug-kiss, then, "I don't remember when I fell in love with you, but it feels like I've been running away from it all my life. And as much as I loved Jess, I never would have looked at her twice if I could have convinced you to come with me."

"But … you never even asked."

"I was too afraid if I made you choose between Dad and me, you'd choose him. And if you'd chosen me? Then I'd be right back to not being able to touch you, so I ran again."

"You didn't have to run, Sammy."

Sam shifted him with all the care of a father with a newborn, easing Dean down to lie on the mattress while he leaned down over him. "Didn't I? Not much you can't do, but I think saying no to me might be one of them."

Dean's hands gently gripped Sam's shoulders. "Probably," he admitted. And he didn't even want to imagine the nightmare their lives would have become if Sam had approached him before they met back up in Stanford. Cause, yeah, he would have let Sam have him, especially if he thought it might get him to stay, but … "But I've wanted you for at least five years."

Sam leaned down and their lips touched. A soft brushing touch, that deepened with a second, then a third.

Dean felt Sam harden against his thigh, and he spread his legs, even managing to hook his ankles around Sam's calves. "Want you in me," he murmured.

Sam drew back enough to smile at him. "And I will be," he assured him. "So often you'll blush when anyone mentions your bowed legs, but not until you're stronger."

"Sam," he whined.

"Whine all you want, beautiful, all you're getting today is a hell of a lot of cuddling."

Fuck. "And kissing?"

"Part of cuddling."

"Oh, okay." Sam's lips returned to his, while big hand gently moved over Dean's body. Mapping him. Caressing him. And slowly, Dean began to feel loved. And when he woke up after a nap to more cuddling, he even began to feel a little on the cherished side. Wasn't even close to the perfect fantasy the creature had given him. But it was real, and that made it a hell of a lot better.

After yet another nap Sam made a production out of kissing him goodbye before slipping out to get them something to eat. But before he left, he picked up Dean's cell. He poked the screen twice, handed Dean the phone, then walked out with a cheery wave. Bitch.

The next moment, Dean heard a shouted, 'You idjit,' then Bobby spent the better part of ten minutes ripping him a new one. Dean didn't interrupt the tirade until he heard the tears in the man's voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't think –"

"You sure as hell didn't!"

A few seconds of silence ticked by and Dean finally said, "Bobby?"

"Far as I'm concerned, boy, you're my son, and if you ever pull another damned fool stunt like this again, I will exercise my fatherly rights and kick your ass from here to the Gulf. You got that?"

A warmth filled Dean. "I'm your … you still …?"

"Love you? Yeah. Wanted to kill your daddy a time or two, but, boy, I've always loved you. And I'm damned sorry I did anything to make you doubt that." They talked for a few minutes more and signed off with Dean promising to get 'their fool asses up here' as soon as they got the honeymoon out of their systems.

Blushing heavily, Dean set down the phone, then lay back to stare at the ceiling. Bobby had been mad at Dad, and Dean had read too much into it. Got it wrong. No disgust, no veiled 'get lost,' just the simple fury only John Winchester could inspire and nothing more. When he stopped to consider how hard even his low self-esteem had needed to work to turn a threat of buckshot in his father's ass into a rejection of himself, Dean couldn't fight the truth of what Bobby had told him. So maybe he could let that one go.

And Sam? To hear him talk, the only thing Dean had ever done wrong was be such an awesome big brother that he'd made a kid too young to handle it fall in love with him. Yeah, that one was harder to swallow, and he knew himself well enough to know the pain of all those years of doubt would never completely fade, that he'd be a needy bitch demanding reassurance all the time, but truth was, as long as Sam wanted him, he'd have him. However Sam wanted him, and they were damned lucky the level of want currently went both ways. That changed, well, Dean would do his best not to think about it until it happened.

Sam walked back in the door with a bag and two large cups. With a flourish, he presented Dean with a chocolate milkshake and a juicy bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries, hold the snarky nutrition comments. And that might be the greatest declaration of love Dean had ever gotten.

He happily devoured every bite, then let Sam coax him into the shower. Could have handled a fast wash up on his own, but Sam took his sweet time guiding the wash cloth over Dean's body, and he had to lean on Sam to stay upright. Still, all dewy-eyed over each other or not, Dean couldn't help putting up a token protest when Sam swept him up off his feet to carry him back to bed.

Sam kissed him into submission, then made a point of taking the long way around – and how the hell did a bedroom even have a long way? – to the unused bed. Apparently Gigantor had already developed some kink for hauling Dean around like a two-year-old, but Dean sort of had a kink for Sam's muscles so they could work it out. They ended up between fresh sheets with Sam once more stretched out over him, kissing him. Dean liked that. He liked it a lot.

"Are you purring?" Sam asked with a huge grin.

… "Maybe." Oh, what the hell. "It's what us sex kittens do."

Sam shook his head. "Dude, you faced down a monster who represented every nightmare you've ever had. Makes you a tiger, not a kitten." He smiled, then kissed him again. "My pretty tiger."

And in the end, despite all the doubts that would torment him throughout his life, Dean found he could live with that.

end


End file.
